


The Very Distinctive Job

by romanticalgirl



Category: Leverage
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Eliot's got a secret that doesn't stay secret for long with Hardison and Parker around. The past comes back sometimes. It's not always what Eliot thinks, but it's also not what he expects.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the awesome and amazing [maurheti](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maurheti/pseuds/maurheti) for the beta. You are great.

Eliot Spencer has a very distinctive style.

He’s officially a retrieval specialist, but most people just think of him as a hitter, a brute, muscle. He’s fine with it, cultivates it actually. It makes people underestimate him. People expect brawn, and they think they can defeat brawn. What they don’t know is that Eliot’s got brains too. He thinks. He plans. He strategizes. He doesn’t walk into a fight without knowing what he’s facing and what his objective is.

Anyone can be a goon. That’s one thing Eliot definitely isn’t.

He’s been straight muscle before, working for other people, for governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty, don’t want to actually dirty the hands of their elite soldiers. Eliot’s a man for hire. He doesn’t always work for the highest bidder. He’s got a code of ethics, a code of honor, so he’s turned down plenty of jobs. Sometimes they offer more money, thinking he’s looking for a bigger payday. What they don’t get is that Eliot’s got plenty of money.

He does what he does how he does it because everyone else he can walk away from. He’s the one who has to live with what’s inside him. He’s told Sophie before about the demons that linger there, cling to his heart and his guts, talons dug in so deep they’ll never get out. There are nightmares in his head that scream at him, but he never lets the screams out. He’s killed men because he had to, and he won’t do it again. Not for himself.

But he knows he would do it again. For his team. For his family. Nate. Sophie. Hardison. Parker. He knows he’d lay down his life for them. Lay anyone’s life down. They’re all he has in the world. The only people that are _his_. Everyone else has been passing through, ephemeral. But them, his people, he’d play Orpheus and go to hell for them, bring them back and he wouldn’t turn around. He knows them. They’d steal the devil himself to have Eliot’s back.

He doesn’t want more blood on his hands though, so he trains. He boxes and goes to the gym, he fights with a local group of MMA fighters. He takes ballet and gymnastics classes when they’re not on a job. He has a membership at the Arthur Miller dance studio for when he needs a refresher on ballroom dancing. Part of it is because he never knows for sure what parts he’ll have to play in a con and he wants to be prepared, but part of it is because it requires everything – mind, body, balance.

**

“Damn it, Hardison.” Eliot kicks the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot and points as he heads toward the table. “I told you to stay out of it.”

“It was a quick credit check.”

“I don’t care. Quick or slow, it was none of your damn business. What I do when I’m not working has nothing to do with you. Or you.” Eliot points at Parker as she walks into the room. She picks up the bowl of popcorn off the table next to Hardison and stuffs a few pieces into her mouth.

“Me what?”

Bits of popcorn fly out of her mouth and Eliot throws his hands up in the air. He’s the most disciplined person he knows and all four of the idiots he works with have the power to break that down just by existing. “Don’t think I don’t know you were egging him along.”

“Ooh. Eggs. Write that on the grocery list.”

“Write? Write it? Woman. How many times I got to tell you?”

“Right. Sorry. Type it on the grocery list.” She throws a piece of popcorn at Eliot, which he catches before it hits him. “So what’d he do? We do? No. Him. He do?”

“He ran a credit check on her.”

“Her? Her who? Is there a her? Why didn’t you tell me there’s a her?” Parker punches Hardison on the arm, hard if his reaction is anything to go by. Of course, it’s Hardison, so even that’s suspect.

“There’s no her.” Eliot goes to the fridge and grabs a beer and an orange soda, tossing the latter to Hardison who catches it without looking. Parker gestures for one of her own, so Eliot throws a water in her direction.

“Beer.”

She lobs the water back to him and he replaces it, grabbing another beer for her. He sets it in front of her and leans back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s no her.”

Hardison smirks and shakes his head. “There’s a her. Look at his pants.”

“What about his pants?” Parker leans over and looks Eliot directly in the crotch and then down his thighs, far too close for Eliot’s comfort. “Are they those stripper pants? If I pull on them will they come off? I mean, from the front, not from the top. All pants come off from the top if you pull on them.”

“No.” Eliot grabs her by the back of the shirt and pulls her back up so she’s standing. “No pulling my pants.”

“They’re _nice_ pants, Parker. Fancy pants.”

“They’re _jeans_ ,” Eliot snaps.

Hardison sets a pile of papers in front of Parker. “He ordered pizza under one of his aliases.”

“Pizza without us?”

“That’s right.” Hardison turns to the next page. “And then there’s this.”

“Surveillance photos?” Eliot can feel the heat rise up the back of his neck, burn the tips of his ears. He’s a breath away from revising his policy on killing people. “You have _surveillance photos_?” He tries to snatch them away from in front of Parker, but she’s too fast and presses them against her chest. “Parker.”

She pulls them away from her and looks down, snapping them back close when he reaches for them. “Who is she?”

“Nobody.”

“She’s somebody, because you’ve got your arm around her waist.”

“Yeah, she’s somebody, but not a somebody to me.”

“Look at the next photo.” Hardison gives Eliot a knowing look, and Eliot flexes his hands, bones cracking.

“You’re _kissing_?” Parker’s eyes are huge. “You’re not supposed to kiss girls.”

“I’m _not_? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Not kiss girls!” Her brow furrows. “You’re going to leave the team.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are. You’re going to leave the team and marry her and…and…buy a goose.”

“I am not buying a damn goose.” Eliot looks at Hardison with a mix of irritation and anger and exasperation, typical reactions to Parker. “I’m not leaving the team, and I’m not getting married. I’m never getting married.” He snags the pictures away from Parker and rolls them up, jabbing Hardison in the chest. “Do _not_ take photos of me. Ever.”

He turns on his heel and heads for the door, determined to get out before anyone else can get in another word. The door isn’t quite shut when he hears Hardison call out, “Taking your picture is part of m’damn job.”

**

Eliot hates the little black wrought iron chairs they inevitably have at the cafes that Sophie likes to go to. She says it’s a British thing, but given that she’s involved with Nate, Eliot just assumes she’s a masochist. Still, meeting anywhere other than their offices is worth a little annoyance. Sophie’s late, probably grifting some poor schmuck into buying her coffee or her own island. A regular Tuesday afternoon.

He tilts his head to the side and cracks his neck. There’s a slight bit of relief, but there’s a twinge in his shoulder when he does it, and his lips purse. He’s had the feeling for a while, but he’s careful not to show it. Nate probably knows, because Nate seems to know everything, even when he’s completely wrong.

“Sorry, Eliot.” Sophie sits across from him, settling the shopping bags on the floor at her feet. The waiter follows her over and places a cup of coffee in front of her and she takes a sip. “Delightful.”

Eliot rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his own coffee. It’s some weird brand of espresso or something because it doesn’t taste like coffee’s supposed to. Like coffee. “It’s fine.”

“I got caught up with an old friend.” She smiles at his look and shrugs. “New old friend. Insisted on buying me the most marvelous pair of shoes.”

“Insisted or you just lifted his wallet?”

“You’re hurting my feelings. Don’t you think a handsome man might like to buy me a pair of shoes?”

“Don’t try your neurolinguistic programming on me again. I’m not buying you no damn shoes.” He glares at her and she has the decency to blush. Or, more likely, she’s still up to something. “So what’s going on? Why’d we need to meet? Is it Nate?”

“Nate? No. No, it’s not Nate. It’s about you, actually.” Sophie looks down at her coffee, rocking it back and forth on the saucer. “You remember I was seeing someone a while back.”

“Yeah? So?”

“It was...difficult, Eliot. Being intimate with someone and still keeping all those secrets from them. When we split up it was difficult. He said he couldn’t have a relationship with someone who was holding so much back, who was in there with him.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t want that for you, Eliot.”

“Damn it, Hardison.” Eliot mutters under his breath. He is going to kill him. With his bare hands. Twice. “You’re on the wrong track here, Soph.”

“I really don’t think I am.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Eliot…”

“No. No.” He holds up a finger, glaring at her over it. “Because what it _is_ is none of your damn business. It’s _my_ business, and I’m a grown man, and I don’t need a mother or a sister or any family member telling me what to do. I took care of myself long before the four of you came along, and I can do just fine now.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

Eliot drains his coffee and sets his cup down on the saucer, not quite hard enough to break it. Control. Eliot’s stock in trade. “Leave it alone.”

“We don’t want you to get hurt, Eliot. That’s all.”

“I’m a hitter.” He doesn’t mean it to sound as bitter as it does, he didn’t even know it could. “Getting hurt is my job.”

**

His apartment door opens, and he grabs the chef’s knife, turning it sideways for slicing instead of stabbing. He stays just out of sight, watching the door through the mirror across from him. He throws the knife and watches it quiver in the wall, about a half inch from Parker’s nose. She stops short and looks down the blade then to the mirror and then turns enough to see Eliot.

“It’s a damn good thing I like you, Parker.”

“You like me?” She yanks the knife out of the wall and throws it back to him. Eliot catches it and lays it on his chopping block. “You don’t act like you like me.”

“You’re alive.”

“You like me.” She shuts the door behind her with a grin and walks over to the kitchen, boosting herself up onto the counter. “What are you making?”

“Turchetta with Vermouth Gravy and Gateau Saint Honore.”

“For your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my…” Eliot takes a deep breath and grabs a different chef’s knife. “I’m cooking it because cooking relaxes me. Centers me.”

“I like it when you cook. You’re good at it.” She grabs a cheese straw from the glass jar he keeps them in and takes a bite, closing her eyes. “This is amazing.”

“It’s the feta.” He points his knife at it. “Most people just use Parmesan and cheddar. Add in a little feta and, with the mustard powder and cayenne, just the right taste.”

“I make the ones in the oven. The melty ones.”

Eliot blinks at her then shakes his head. “Not the same thing, Parker.”

“Could I do that with feta?”

“No. No you cannot.” Eliot turns back to the spices he’s prepping.

Parker’s face tightens into a moue then she gestures with the cheese straw. “So, what is this again? Turducken?”

“Tur _chetta_.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No it isn’t.” Eliot snaps then presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. “Turducken is a chicken in a duck in a turkey. This is a turkey roulade.”

Parker tilts her head. “Still don’t know the difference.”

Eliot sets the bowl of spices and oil aside and scrubs the chopping block with soap and water before taking a turkey out of the sink and setting it on top of it. He gives Parker a quick look as he grabs a boning knife. Twirling it a few times, he grabs the hilt and slices the skin, parting it and working out the wishbone.

“Ooh! Ooh! Can I have that?”

Eliot hands it to her and turns the turkey, slicing the skin and carefully dissecting the bird, skinning it as he goes. He can feel Parker watching him, can almost hear the questions in her head. Of course, it’s Parker, so he could be completely off the mark in regards to what she’s thinking.

“So who is she?”

There’s something in Parker’s question, something soft and careful. Eliot’s pretty sure he’s never heard it from her before. He’s definitely sure she’s been working with Sophie though, and he’s never getting conned by his own team again. “Nobody.”

“You kiss a lot of nobodies?”

“Who I do and don’t kiss has nothing to do with any of you.” Eliot knows there’s tightness in his voice, and he knows Parker knows it’s a warning. She’s not very good at warnings.

“You never kiss me.”

“Because you’re with Hardison. And there’s something wrong with you. Not because you’re dating Hardison. Well…that too.” Eliot doesn’t look up. “I don’t hook up with the people I work with.”

“You’ve had sex with clients before.” 

“Those are people I work _for_ , not _with_. There’s a difference.” He keeps working the bird over, stripping skin, separating the wings at the joint of the flat and the drumette to release the skin. He places the skin into a container with the neck and wing tips before cutting the rest of the wings off at the shoulder.

“One of them is paying you?”

Eliot points the knife at her. “We pay them. No, not like that. It’s…you _know_ what I mean.” He turns back to the turkey, concentrating on removing all the meat, starting with the oysters. He can feel Parker watching intently, can see the slight shift of her hand as she plays with the wishbone.

“Is it because you’re lonely?”

“I’m not lonely. I don’t get lonely. I chose to live my life like this. I knew the sacrifices it would require. I’m a loner. That’s the definition of it. Being alone.”

“Choosing to be alone and a loner doesn’t mean you’re not lonely.” She frowns at the wishbone. “I was lonely. I didn’t know that’s what I was, because I didn’t know what it meant. What it was like to not be lonely. And we’re a family, so you’re not alone, but Sophie and Nate. And me and Hardison…”

“It’s got nothing to do with that, Parker. So stop.” Eliot keeps working, focusing on the bird he’s dissecting.

She’s quiet, and Eliot looks up to make sure she’s actually still there. She’s holding out the wishbone. “Make a wish.”

Eliot doesn’t believe in wishes. He’s a realist. He knows his limitations. He doesn’t do drugs and he doesn’t drink to excess because he knows he can’t lose control. That makes it easy to know how to say no to things. Parker wiggles the arched bone and smiles at him, wide and infectious.

He also knows he has weaknesses, and she’s one of them. “I don’t make wishes.”

“Make one for me then.” She wiggles the bone again, closer to Eliot’s face.

“If I do will you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“All of this.”

“Only if that’s what you wish for and you get the biggest piece.” Her smile widens. “C’mon, Eliot. Don’t tell me you’re chicken. Or turkey. Whatever.”

“Fine.” He grabs half of the wishbone. “When?”

“Count of three. One.” Parker pulls the bone and it snaps loudly. She has the larger section in her hand. “I win. I win.” She jumps off the counter and raises her fists, bouncing around the room like she’s Rocky Balboa.

“You cheated.”

“I’m a thief.”

“That also makes you a cheat?”

Parker stops moving, tilting her head like she’s considering it. “Sure,” she decides, picking up her bouncing where she left off. 

Eliot tunes her out and keeps working on the turkey, cutting the meat off of the carcass and then working through the rest of it, trimming fat and slicing out the small bones in the legs before stripping the tendon out of the tenderloins and working on the rest of the bird. 

He feels Parker come back into the kitchen, leaning on the counter beside him. “Have you ever done that to a person?”

Eliot freezes, knife poised over the chicken breast. “You really want to ask me that question, Parker?”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah. No.” She boosts herself onto the counter beside him and Eliot manages to resist the urge to stab the knife into her thigh. “You probably had to eat bears and stuff though, right? In the wild? So you learned how to do it?”

“I learned how to do this when I learned how to cook.” Eliot carefully places all the meat into a bowl and grabs the paste of herbs and oil, working it over the meat with his hands, coating it with the rub. Parker takes a deep breath and smiles. “I’ve never deboned a bear.”

She starts to pull her knees up to her chin, but she must see the look Eliot shoots her way because she lowers them again. “So who are you making this for?”

“Me.”

“You’re going to eat a whole turkey roll? I mean, I’ve had those loaf things that come in the little bread pan...”

“That’s not _turkey_ , Parker.”

“It’s like turkey. Tastes like it. It counts.” She pokes Eliot’s bicep. “Anyway, this is more turkey than that. And you want me to believe you’re going to eat all of it.”

“Maybe I’m bringing it to the office.”

“If you were doing that, you would have told me.” She shrugs. “What if I told you that you telling me was my wish?”

“Well, in that case, I’d say-” Eliot keeps his voice light until then, “get used to wishes not coming true.” he goes to the sink and washes his hands, then carefully wraps the bowl of chicken and the pan with the skin and wings. After that he puts away his spices methodically before running hot soapy water in the sink. Parker hasn’t moved, hasn’t even changed the expression on her face. Eliot washes his knives and the chopping board, drying them carefully then putting everything back where it belongs. He wipes his hand on the towel hanging from his front pants pocket before he finally meets Parker’s eyes. “Why are you still here, Parker?”

She jumps off the counter and lands in front of him, close enough that he can feel the rise of her chest when she breathes. “I don’t like this.”

“This what?”

She takes a step forward, and even though Eliot knows Parker couldn’t move him without his permission, he still takes a step back. “Secrets.”

“There’s no secrets, Parker.”

“Then who _is_ she?”

Eliot blows out a breath and closes his eyes. Parker’s closer now, breasts pressed against Eliot’s chest. Parker doesn’t understand personal space, but she has a lot of it, and having her this close feels wrong. They both share the wariness of touch, her because she never had it, and him because touching usually meant pain. But she’s there, in his space. He could disable her in ten different ways without really moving. He could snap her neck easily. Instead he exhales heavily again and puts his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs stroke the curve of her collar bone inside the neckline of her tank top. “You really want to know?”

She looks at him for a long time, considering, which Eliot appreciates. He’ll tell Parker anything she really wants to know, no matter what it means, and she knows that. Which means she actually weighs the question when he asks her. His thumbs don’t stop moving, and her skin is soft against the his callouses. She wrinkles her brow and closes her eyes to take a breath. Eliot squeezes her shoulders lightly, expecting her response.

“Yes.”

“Goo... What?”

“Yes. I really want to know.”

Eliot calls himself every name in the book, making a few up along the way. He thought he’d figured her out, thought he’d asked the questions the right way so that she’d know to back down. “Right.” Eliot goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a beer. He pauses, puts it back and goes to a cupboard to pull down a bottle of Maker’s Mark. He raises it in Parker’s direction and she nods slightly, so he grabs two glasses.

He pours one and downs it then fills both glasses, handing her one. Parker takes a sip and makes a face before swallowing the rest of it down easily. Eliot follows her and pours a third. He sets it on the counter and stares down into the amber liquid. He rubs his hand over his mouth, trying to figure out the words. He knows what they are. He knows how to say them, but he doesn’t know how to make them make sense.

“She’s...” He blows out another breath, cursing softly. “She’s my wife.”

**

“NOBODY?” Parker’s yelling and throwing things at Eliot who keeps catching them and setting them back down. “NOBODY!” She grabs a sword off the wall and hurls it in Eliot’s direction. Instinct makes him reach out to catch it, but common sense kicks in and he moves his head out of the way, feeling it brush past his cheek. “A WIFE IS NOT NOBODY.”

“Would you keep your voice down?”

“Where is she?” Parker storms out of the living room toward the back of the apartment. She kicks in the bathroom door, but Eliot’s reasonably sure it was just for the bang. “Where is she?” She shoves open another door then kicks it when it bounces back toward her. Eliot’s at the end of the hallway and she looks back at him, then slams her foot into his bedroom door. The wood around the door handle shatters and the door swings inward. Eliot’s room is spare and simple. Large bed on a black lacquered base, black comforter and snow white sheets. There’s a matching black dresser and a single chair positioned by the window. There’s nothing on the walls, no pictures at all. Parker turns and looks at Eliot. “Where is she?”

“Can we go to the office, please? I really only want to tell this story once.” Truthfully, he didn’t want to tell it at all. All of the stress he’d lost while prepping the food had evaporated into a rod of steel that had shoved down along his spine. “You’re buying me a new door, by the way.”

“Buy your own damn door.” She growls at him as she pushes past, shoving him out of her way. Eliot falls a step to the side then turns to follow her. He grabs his coat off the couch and his bike helmet from by the door. Parker’s already got his spare on and is straddling his bike. He can feel the emotion vibrating off of her even before he settles on the seat in front of her. Her arms go around him, her fists hitting harder than is necessary. Necessary for holding on. Possibly not as hard as necessary for Parker right now. “You’d better drive _fast_.”

He weaves in and out of traffic easily, barely feeling the buzz of the alcohol. It’s not a busy time of day, and the path to Nate’s isn’t long. Eliot feels Parker’s hot breath on his neck, agitated and angry. Her arms are like a vise around him and her short nails are digging into the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It’s uncomfortable, but not as distracting as he thought it might be, so they make it to the office in good time. Parker’s off before he kills the bike, and it’s only reflexes that keep the extra helmet from hitting him in the face when Parker throws it at him.

Eliot goes up the stairs slowly. He’s hoping that Parker will have already told them everything she knows – which isn’t much – before he gets in there so at least the most awkward part is over. Not the most awkward part. The hardest part. Instead everyone’s sitting around the command table. Waiting for him. Parker must have sent a text to all of them. 

Eliot’s good at what he does, but he doesn’t run cons. The jobs he’s in charge of are ones he does alone, planning only for himself. Which is why standing in front of the screens in front of all of them makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t have a job for them. He doesn’t have much of anything. There’s a joke on the tip of his tongue, but it dies at the fierceness in Parker’s eyes. 

“Hardison.” His voice is soft, quiet. “Put ‘em up there. I know you have ‘em.”

Hardison nods once and starts clacking on his keyboard. Eliot glances over his shoulder as the pictures Hardison had been freaking out over appeared behind him. “That’s Miranda. Miranda Kurtis.”

“Kurtis?” Nate’s eyebrows shoot up. “As in Winfield Kurtis?”

“His daughter, yeah.”

“She’s not Miranda Kurtis,” Parker snaps, her eyebrows lifting. “Is she, Eliot?”

“Technically, she is.” He shrugs and looks back at the photos again to avoid Parker’s gaze. “But she’s also...well. She’s also...” 

“Your wife.” 

Eliot’s eyes shoot over to Nate. “How...”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. Parker sort of gave it away.” He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, fingers laced together. 

“You’re married?” Hardison asks loudly as Sophie mutters an ‘oh my’ under her breath. “I would know if you were married.”

“It’s not common knowledge. As in no one knows. Well, you know now. Because you can’t stay out of other people’s business,” Eliot spits out through his teeth. “You and your damn spy cameras like you’re the goddamn NSA or something.”

“I use them to keep us _safe_ ,” Hardison squeezes his bottle of orange soda and the liquid rises threateningly. “How was I to know you were suddenly going to take a stroll with your secret _bride_?”

“Eliot.” Sophie’s voice cuts through everything, leaving the room silent. “Why is she here?”

“She’s pregnant.”

Eliot doesn’t have time to react when Parker vaults over the counter and launches herself at him, taking him down to the floor. Her knees dig into the middle of his forearms and he’s not sure if she’s punching him or slapping him or some strange mixture of both. It stops and he hears Hardison’s voice over Parker’s yelling, and he looks up to see Parker’s face pressed into Hardison’s chest, his arms wrapped around her. Eliot closes his eyes and thumps his head back on the floor.

“Are you the father?”

Nate’s impenetrable calm usually makes Eliot want to punch his smug face. Today’s it’s a relief. “No.”

“She cheated on you?” Parker’s voice is muffled by Hardison’s chest, but there’s anger in that question too. Apparently if Eliot’s going to have a secret wife, she is supposed to at least be faithful. 

Eliot gets to his feet and combs his fingers through his hair. “We were in Rabak. Her dad was negotiating a deal with someone. I wasn’t there for him. I had been...sent. By Moreau. Just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Sort of.” He needed a drink. More whiskey or at least another beer. Or ten. “I’d been in the jungle, having a discussion on Moreau’s behalf with a local wanna-be potentate. Twenty of us went in. Three of us came out. There were some very pissed off guys right behind us. We split up. Or they ran off. Something like that. It’s a little hazy, since I’d been shot and was losing a lot of blood.”

Parker pulls her face away from Hardison’s chest, turning her head so that she’s looking at Eliot. They’re rimmed with red, so Eliot doesn’t meet them. Looking over her to Hardison isn’t any easier, so the focuses on the window behind Nate’s shoulder. 

“I stumbled into the hotel. It was a nice one. One where poachers stay when they’re going out on safari, hunting big game from big, well-protected jeeps with their guns that are pure compensation.”

“For what?”

Hardison shakes his head, his chin rubbing against Parker’s head. “I’ll tell you later, girl.”

“Anyway. I walk in – dirty and sweaty and bloody – and a large guard stops me. He’s about twice my side, wide eyes and a wide smile that you normally only see on a someone you’ve severely pissed off and who’s about to snap your neck.” Eliot rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. “I need a beer.”

“I’ll get it,” Sophie offers, slipping off quietly and returning with beer for Eliot. He expected her to bring a tray with something for all of them, but he gets the impression she didn’t want to take the time, didn’t want to give him a chance to stop. 

“I’m getting ready to fight him. I know I’m probably going to lose because I feel like someone has driven over me with a truck before strapping me to...well.” He clears his throat and takes a long drink. “I’m about to say something that’s gonna get it all started and then get it all over with when this woman I don’t even know walks up to me, not giving a rat’s ass what I look like, and kisses me. Blood. Dirt. Sweat. God knows what else. And she’s kissing me, body pressed hard to mine.”

“Smooth, my brother.” Hardison holds up a hand for Eliot to slap, letting it fall slowly at Eliot’s look.

“She pulls back and starts telling me I’m late and how dare I show up looking like that and she’d _told_ me not to go exploring and really who did I think I was and we have a dinner and she was going to kill me or worse. She just kept talking and dragging me to the elevators. I was losing blood.” He gives Hardison a look that keeps any tasteless joke he might make silent. “I’d just been kissed instead of killed. It was disorienting.”

“I can imagine,” Sophie smiles. “Are you sure she isn’t a grifter? That’s rather our stock in trade.”

“Anyway. There was a doctor. Field doctor, so fairly decent, and he told me the scar’d be ugly, so at least he didn’t lie to me. Then she told me that her father planned to marry her to some local in exchange for some mineral rights. She needed a way out of that and I needed a way out of the country. We found the local priest, woke him up at three in the morning and had him marry us.

“He insisted on celebrating because we were the first wedding he’d ever officiated. So we drank. We were both low on sleep, and I was still a little light-headed, so we eventually stumbled back to the hotel. To the room. To the...” He shrugs, feeling heat burning the tips of his ears again. “Next morning her dad had the hotel manager bust into her room when she didn’t answer the door.”

“Oh, man.” Hardison shakes his head. “Nasty. Were you knockin’ boots?”

“Really? _Really_ , Hardison?” Eliot feels a shiver run through his whole body. “He was just going to straight up shoot me until one of his underlings came in and whispered something to him. Apparently word had gotten to them that I belonged to Moreau. So instead we did exactly what Miranda said we would do. Got out of the country.”

“And then you lived happily ever after?”

Eliot rolls his eyes at Nate’s tone. “No, man. And then we got the hell away from each other. She was a nice girl who didn’t want to be married to anyone, not just me. And I wanted to be married about as much as I wanted Moreau to stick a knife between my ribs. But he called, and I went, because that’s what I got paid to do. It wasn’t going to matter. It wasn’t going to...come up. Again. Ever.”

“But now she’s pregnant.”

“Yeah.”

“And she wants a divorce.”

Eliot nods. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“And nothing. End of story. That’s why I said she was nobody. That’s why she _is_ nobody.”

“How did she find you, Eliot.”

That was the question Eliot really hadn’t wanted Nate to ask. “She didn’t find me. She found you. Us. She was coming to us for help. I was walking out of the bar. She was walking in. I’d gone a few feet past her when she laughed and said my name. Not a lot of people say my name. Caught my attention.”

“And you spent the rest of the day with her?”

“I wanted to hear what she had to say. I needed to know if it was something we were likely to look at as a job. I needed to know if it involved her father. Because I couldn’t be on a case with her father.” He doesn’t know what his face gives away. He’s perfected stoic and annoyed. Those are his defaults. But something must cross his expression, because both Hardison and Parker go still before they look at Nate and Sophie.

“And does it?” Nate asks.

“Why not?” Sophie says right on the heels of Nate’s question.

“Moreau’s employees are assets until they aren’t. I did something unsanctioned and not part of his plan. He was pissed at me, but I was his, you know? When you work for Moreau, you work _for_ Moreau. No one else, not even yourself. Kurtis had every intention of killing me himself until he got the call from Damien.” He realizes the slip before everyone else, but he can tell by the way the air gets sucked out of the room that everyone else realizes it as well. “Then he had orders. He obeyed them. Then. But he promised me that if he ever saw me again, he’d finish what he started.”

“Started?”

Eliot’s not completely sure who the question comes from. “Damien...Moreau wasn’t pleased with damaged merchandise. Mr. Kurtis wasn’t pleased with the consequences. I imagine he likes me even less than he did when he caught me with his daughter.”

“But who got her pregnant?”

“And why were you kissing her?”

Eliot looks at Nate and Sophie to avoid Hardison and Parker’s questions. “She needs help. Our help.” He swallows, but it doesn’t take the taste of the words our of his mouth. “Your help.”

“We’re a team, Eliot.”

Sophie’s voice is warm and it makes him shiver again. “Yeah. We are. But you can’t run the con with me there. Kurtis knows me. I’d blow the con before it got started. I’ve taught you all enough that you can hold your own. It’s not going to be a muscle job. Call Tara in if you need a fifth.” The words hurt, but not as much as the thoughts ache inside him, weighing him down. “Just get Miranda home safe. Take care of her.”

“You can’t just stay here.” Parker moves back from Hardison. Her face is pale, but her eyes and the tip of her nose are red. “You can’t.”

“I won’t. I’m going to South Sudan to steal a marriage certificate.”

**

Eliot leaves when it’s dark, when he knows they’re all gone from where they’ve been watching him. He’s better at waiting than any of them when he needs to be. He called in a favor to get a flight, slipping through the cracks like he’s good at. It’s nice to use skills that have gotten a little rusty now that he doesn’t have to do everything. Hardison takes care of things like flights and aliases, hotel rooms and the like. This way, Eliot’s in the cargo hold in a nest of suitcases piled to hide him and to keep him from getting crushed if they hit turbulence. There were two dogs in carriers as well, and he’s brought them in with him, keeping them company. 

Without the others’ voices in his ear, everything seems too quiet. Normally he can block them out and center himself to the low background hum. It should be easy like this, but the lack of sound, the knowledge that they’re not there makes it hard. Not as hard as the nagging voice in his head reminding him that he’s not there to protect them. He’s not there to make sure they’re all right. 

The church is gone, nothing left but a burnt husk of a building. Eliot walks around, drawing his fingers through the charred remains that linger. Effectively this should end everything. No church, no certificate, no certificate, no marriage.

“Hello?” Eliot looks up to see a man walking toward him. Eliot smiles and starts in his direction. The priest smiles as he comes closer to Eliot. “Can I help you, son?”

Eliot nods toward the church building. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Two years ago. Did you come here to worship?”

“No. No.” Eliot clears his throat to work his instinctive reaction of something like disgust from his voice. Eliot has no problem with religion. He’s just seen too much blood come from it to believe in the practice for himself. “I was just wondering what happened to everything.”

“A few things were saved. But the papers, the books. They were all destroyed.” Sorrow crosses over the priest’s face. “Do I know you?”

“No. We’ve met once. In the church, actually. Well, initially in your bedroom.”

He looks confused, but then the priest’s eyes widen. “You are him! Of course. I did not recognize you with the longer hair. How is your bride?”

“Good. She’s good. Pregnant.” Eliot doesn’t know why the words come out. Maybe it’s something to do with the look in the priest’s eyes, a silent plea for something good. “That’s why I came, actually. I wanted to surprise her. For when the baby’s born. Our marriage certificate. We never really had a copy.”

“Yes. Of course. You had only a letter for the authorities to state that you were married. It is a lovely gesture you wish to make, but, I’m afraid it is not possible. All of the papers were destroyed. Everything. All of our records. Marriage. Death. Birth. And when the revolution began so soon after you left, I’m afraid nothing at all went to the capital to be filed.”

“So there’s nothing?”

“No. I am sorry, my son.”

Eliot nods, ducking his head in an effort to look sad. It doesn’t take any acting, which surprises him. The certificate had said that, for one moment in time, Eliot Spencer had been someone worth marrying, being with. Even if it was for a case of life or death, Miranda hadn’t thought twice about how he looked or smelled. She’d cleaned him up, she’d taken care of him, and she hadn’t even known him. But she’d known enough to be willing to marry him, to get him out of the country. She’d known enough to know that, even though he was broken and scarred and possibly a little murderous, she was safe to touch him, safe to feel him. Safe enough to be a safe place for him at the same time.

“Thank you, Father.” Eliot turns away to look at the building again. “Do you have someplace else to serve as your church?”

“I have shepherded my flock to another pasture, yes.” He reaches out and touches Eliot’s shoulder. “Go home to your wife. Be there when your child comes. Your family. That is far more important than any piece of paper.”

He nods and heads back to where he’d stashed his gear. There’s another long flight ahead of him, and he’s feeling blurred around the edges, exhaustion making him sway slightly. He’s doing what he’d been told and flying home. To his family.

He’ll have time to sleep on the plane.

**

He’s on comms the minute he lands. He scrolls through his phone during the cab ride to Kurtis’s house, using what he’s hearing and what he’s reading to catch up so he knows where to find everyone and, more importantly, how to not mess anything up. His stomach settles as he listens to their voices – Hardison’s rushed and indignant, Sophie’s warm and calm, Nate’s practical and determined, and Parker’s cool and happy. He doesn’t know what his voice is, where it fits. He just knows it does. 

Everything is winding down as the cab stops in front of the house. He’s paying the cabbie when the first shot rings out, and he just shoves the money into the front seat and bolts inside. “Talk to me, Hardison.”

There’s a moment of silence and then all four voices descend on him at once. There’s another gunshot and Eliot heads for the sound. He hones in on Hardison’s voice, listening to him give him the run down. He knows who’s holding the gun and where before he has a sight line. He pushes past Sophie and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun.

“Eliot.” Winfred Kurtis hasn’t changed at all. He still looks like Colonel Mustard from the Clue game, the big game hunter that went out with the serials in the 50s. 

Eliot gives him a strained smile. “Dad.”

He sees Kurtis’s finger twitch on the trigger, but he doesn’t fire. Eliot’s scanning the room, finding all of his people where Hardison said they’d be. The last person he actually acknowledges is Miranda. He’s been aware of her the whole time – aware of them all and where they are – but when he actually looks at her, she’s got a gun to her head and an arm around her throat and, if Eliot’s reading her expression correctly, the arm probably belongs to the man who got her pregnant. Eliot recognizes hurt like that. He’d seen it in Aimee’s face more than once.

He’s choreographing the fight in his head, keeping his gaze on Kurtis the whole time. “I’m surprised to see you, Spencer. I pegged you to come back begging when Moreau put the price on your head.”

“Why? So you could hand it to him on a plate?” Eliot smirks then smiles at Miranda. He hears Parker’s sharp intake of breathe when he does, and he knows that he’s done his job and looks like a man in love. He’s not sure how Parker recognizes the look, but maybe Hardison’s given her a reason to recognize it. “Hey, darlin’.”

The arm around Miranda’s throat tightens and he can tell from her gasp that the muzzle of the gun is pressing hard enough against her forehead that it’s going to leave a mark. “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, Spencer. You don’t even so much as look at my daughter.”

“Done a hell of a lot more than that.” Eliot grins and Nate’s voice reminds him to be careful. “And right now, you’ve got your flunky with a gun to my wife’s head. And you know how that makes me feel?” Eliot narrows his eyes and meets Winfred’s gaze head on. “That makes me feel angry.” 

Eliot doesn’t telegraph his moves. He simply moves. Strikes. The gun’s gone before Kurtis knows he’s been hit, and he’s on the ground with Eliot’s boot on his throat before most of the gathered crowd takes a breath.

“See, I don’t like other men using my wife as a pawn.” The word feels strange in Eliot’s mouth even though he’s said it more than once now in the space of just a few minutes. He puts more pressure on Kurtis’s throat then eases up slightly when he gags. “Now. Tell your flunky to let her go.”

“That’s your mistake.” Eliot looks up at the man with his arm around Miranda’s throat as he moves her in front of him like a shield. “It’s the other way around. Hello, Eliot. You probably don’t remember me.”

“Marchand.” Eliot nods slightly. “Sold us out in Sudan. Shot me, which, by the way, I don’t take kindly to. Let her go.”

“No. I don’t think I will. She’s very sweet.” He runs the gun along the side of Miranda’s face. “I think I might keep her. Icing on the cake.” He leans in toward Miranda’s ear and, in a soft voice that’s just loud enough for Eliot to hear, he keeps talking. “Does he know? Darlin’?”

She jerks her head to the side and shakes it slightly. Marchand laughs and walks her forward a few steps. “Should I be the one to tell him? Should that be what he hears on his deathbed?”

“I’m sorry, Eliot.”

Eliot’s not sure exactly when the penny drops, but he takes off at a dead run toward Marchand on instinct. He’s not sure what he knows, but he knows it somewhere deep in his gut. He launches himself when he sees Sophie pull Miranda away, forward momentum carrying him toward Marchand even when the bullet hits him square in his stomach.

The voices in his ear are a cacophony that almost drowns out the sound of the gun firing a second time as Eliot hits Marchand, taking him down to the ground. He knocks the hand with the gun to the side and plants his knee in the middle of Marchand’s chest. He can feel his control slipping as he lands punch after punch. His brain is echoing, telling him he can’t die, not yet. 

Between him and Marchand, he’s not sure who goes unconscious first.

**

When he wakes up his throat feels like he’s been using gravel for mouthwash, and there’s nothing but fire below his ribs. It’s dulled on the edges, so he knows they’re giving him something, but it’s also nothing strong enough to keep him under, to break down his walls. He imagines he probably has Sophie to thank for that. Opening his eyes hurts, his lids feel like they weigh a ton, and even the low light of the hospital room is like a spike through his head. 

He exhales shakily and looks around the room. Nate is sitting in a chair at the opposite end of the room, writing something down in his book. “Water?”

Nate sets the book aside and gets up, pouring Eliot a cup of water and holding the straw to his mouth for him. 

“Thanks. We get ‘em?”

“Yeah. We did. They got you too. That was stupid.”

“Yeah. Well.” He carefully touches his stomach, wincing as he feels the thick pad of bandage. “How bad?”

“Not good.” Nate shakes his head. “Damn it, Eliot.”

“What did you want me to do, Nate? I’m not going to let someone get killed because someone’s trying to get me. I try not to have innocent blood on my hands anymore.” 

Nate nods as Eliot takes another drink of water, trying to soothe the pain in his throat. “Marchand was working for one of Moreau’s ex-business partners. Miranda was...”

“Bait. Got it.” Eliot tries to sit up, but Nate places a hand on his shoulder. There’s not much pressure, but it’s enough to keep Eliot down. “Why me?”

“They wanted you to work for them. With them.”

“But why would they use her? I hadn’t seen her in years.”

“That’s not my story to tell.” Nate glances toward the door where Miranda is standing. There’s a young girl in front of her, bright blue eyes and Native American cheekbones. Her hair falls straight except for the soft curls at the ends. Nate nods at her and leaves the room. Miranda steps inside, guiding the girl in ahead of her.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. Literally at first.” Miranda’s fingers stroke lightly at the little girl’s hair. “You were a hard man to find.”

Eliot nods jerkily, unable to look away from the little girl now at his bedside. “Yeah.”

“Ellie. This is Eliot. I’ve told you about him. The man who saved my life. Twice now.” She ignores Eliot shaking his head. “I named you after him, remember?”

“Hi.” Ellie sticks out her hand and waits, eyebrows lifting to her bangs when Eliot doesn’t take her hand immediately. Finally he moves his arm, wincing at the pull against the bandages, but he takes her hand and shakes it. She has a good grip. “My mom said you’re a good guy.”

“I can be.” 

“Do you try?”

“Always.” His voice clogs up his throat, so he clears it carefully. “What about you?”

“My mom says I have to try. To be like my dad. He’s dead. But Mom said he was the best man she ever knew, even though she didn’t know him for a long time.”

Eliot’s careful not to look at Miranda, keeping his gaze solidly on Ellie. “Being good’s important. Doing the right thing. But you stick up for yourself too, okay?”

“Did my grandpa shoot you? Or did David? He said he was going to marry my mom, but Aunt Sophie said she wouldn’t let him.”

“Aunt Sophie, huh?”

“She’s not my real aunt. She was friends with my grandma before she died. Mom says you knew my dad.”

“A little. She’s right. He tried too. To be good.” The lie tastes like ashes on Eliot’s tongue. 

“Honey, why don’t you wait outside for me, okay? Aunt Sophie’s out there.”

“Okay. It was nice to meet you, Eliot. I like our name.” She turns and skips out of the room and Eliot finally swallows, his chest tight enough that he feels like he’s never going to get air again.

“Were you pregnant?”

“No. But David said that kids were your weakness.” She takes a tentative step closer. “I’m sorry.”

“So this was about me?”

“They wanted you to work for them. They thought they could use Ellie and me for leverage.” She shrugs, blinking back the bright wetness in her eyes. “You team took out Damien Moreau. They thought if they could get you to work for them, you could take out the competition. They thought...they thought that you were a different man that you are. They thought your team would follow you if you didn’t have a choice.”

Eliot lets out a breath, as deep as he can manage. “Why didn’t you tell me when you came out to see me? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“How do you say that after eight years, Eliot? How do you say, ‘I need you to help me save the daughter you never knew you had’?”

“That would have worked.”

“I’m sorry. I was scared.” She takes a step forward and touches Eliot’s arm. He closes his eyes and just feels it, because she was never nobody, never just somebody. “You went to Sudan.”

“Church burned down. Nothing left. No records.” He looks at her and holds her gaze. “I guess that counts as an annulment, huh?”

“Yeah.” She glances at the door and wipes a tear from her face. “You could. You could get to know her. She’s a great kid.”

Something inside Eliot feels like it cracks, splinters. “In my line of work, it’s not good to have outside people who matter. I’m not going to put the two of you in more danger.”

“But...”

“Send me pictures. Hardison will give you an encrypted email. It’s better. Safer.”

“I want her to know you. I’ve always wanted that. We saved each others lives that night. Maybe it didn’t seem like you saved mine, but you did. That night and the night my father did what he did. When he sent you away. You were so brave, Eliot. I vowed then and there that I was going to be as brave as you. And then, even when you were gone, you gave me the most precious thing in my life. You saved me.” She takes his hand and holds it tightly. “You are the best man I’ve ever known, Eliot.”

“You need to meet more people.”

“No.” She shakes her head and leans in, kissing him gently on the forehead and then the mouth. She tastes like cinnamon and heat, and Eliot lifts a hand to her face, tracing her cheek before letting his fingers settle against her throat. She pulls back and rests her forehead against his. “Bye, Eliot.”

He nods, his throat too rough for him to speak for a moment. “G’bye.” 

**

Parker sits next to Eliot on the plane, even though she’s supposed to be across the cabin. Eliot has his hand across his stomach, more support for the burning pressure that hasn’t gone away. For some reasons, Parker’s dressed as a nun. “Sister Parker sounds ridiculous.”

“Nuns are harmless.”

“I’ve met a lot of badass nuns.”

“People think nuns are harmless. They don’t see them.” She looks at the back of the seat, and Eliot’s not sure if it’s to build up her courage – which it can’t be, because Parker is fearless – or if it’s to make sure whatever she’s about to say is the right thing. “It was good that I made you tell me. You would have gone off on your own and then you’d be dead, and I’d have to kill you.” She reaches out and touches Eliot’s knee. “We’re a team.”

“I know we are.”

“You tried to not be.”

“I tried to figure out what to do on my own before I brought it to the team.” He knows Parker won’t see the difference, but maybe she’ll understand that it’s there.

“You’re not allowed to die, Eliot. We need you. To keep us together. You’re our glue.” She frowns, a furrow dug in the bridge of her nose. “If you can die all of us can die. And that’s not okay. None of that’s okay.”

“Parker...”

“You know what I mean.”

He does. “Yeah. I do.” 

“I’m sorry. That you don’t get to know your daughter.”

“So am I.” Exhaling, Eliot closes his eyes and leans back against the seat. “But you know what, Parker? I got married. I had a kid. If you had told me that when I was younger, I would have laughed right in your face. That’s not who I ever was. I knew I was going to enlist. I knew the kind of life I was going to live.”

“But you got to have both. Sort of.”

“Yeah, Parker. Sort of.” Eliot breathes as deeply as he can, inhaling until everything hurts before he lets it out. Eliot puts his hand on top of Parker’s where it’s resting on his knee. He rubs his thumb over it. “Even without it. Miranda and Ellie. I have a family.” He turns his head and opens his eyes and Parker’s staring right at him. They get each other, the two of them. Always have, no matter how weird Eliot thinks she is. 

“It’s nice, right?”

“Yeah.” Eliot lifts his hand off hers and raises his arm, letting her duck underneath it and lean against him. He knows they must look ridiculous. An invalid and a nun. “It’s nice.”

**

Eliot’s never had a hard time looking at himself in the mirror. There have been moments – the last job he did for Moreau – but for the most part, he’s lived the life he planned to live. He took the jobs he did because they needed to be done, and he’s atoning for as much of what he regrets as he can. 

Now he’s home in his own place for a little while before he knows Hardison and Parker will descend on him with some horrible geek movie that Hardison will swear Eliot will love, and a bag full of kernels for the pan-popped popcorn Parker will insist Eliot makes. 

He’s older now. He can see it in his eyes, in the lines etched into his face. He can still feel the twinge in his shoulder, and he definitely still feels the holes in his gut that feel like they might never heal. He knows that’s not true. He always heals. He always pushes himself to come out stronger, better. 

He can hear Hardison and Parker in the hallway, hear their teasing banter and laughter even if he can’t hear the words. This is what Eliot fights for now. What he’s been fighting to find all his life. Miranda and Ellie don’t feel real, although he imagines what it would have been like to see Ellie grow up. But this. This is his family.

Until his dying day.

Which, to be fair, they might be the ones to bring about.


End file.
